Against All Odds
by A Silver Lining
Summary: His world became silent, and he became quiet. His world was always dark - but he was happy. Fate was the reason they met. Choice was the reason they stayed together. And this is their story. Blind!Blaine, Deaf!Kurt, AU.
1. Chapter 1: Kurt Hummel

**Author's Note: A little head canon turned into this. **

**Here's a chapter just to introduce Kurt. It may be a little confusing at the very beginning but just read on. It'll come together soon enough. **

**Keep in mind that I'm a very slow writer and also a perfectionist which means that my story will probably take ages to update. I'm sorry! Trying to write a couple of chapters beforehand so you won't have to wait as long though. Feel free to message me or put it in the reviews section if you have any ideas.**

**Next update will be in 1 or 2 days.**

**Warning (so far): Slight depression, swearing, homophobia, and crap loads of angst.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Kurt Hummel<strong>

_Room B13. Occupant: K. Hummel._

When Kurt was a baby, he was a delicate little thing with bright blue eyes and thin wisps of light brown hair. Burt and Elizabeth would rock him in their arms for hours in order for him to fall asleep; and when Kurt eventually did close his little eyes, there'd be some kind of noise – maybe Burt closing the door a little too loudly, or Elizabeth turning on the tap, or the beep of a horn from an angry driver outside – that would wake Kurt up with a start and cause him to bawl at the top of his lungs.

He'd always been a boy with major sleeping issues, having to lie in bed for hours because even the slightest noise would disturb him. Burt grew to be quiet after Kurt bid him a goodnight, more quiet than you'd expect a man who worked at a car repair store and wore permanently stained overalls could be. He'd always wish that the world could be silent when Kurt was sleeping. Now, he looks at his peacefully sleeping son, tucked comfortably under white covers and hopes for the first time that Kurt _will_ wake when there is a noise.

Burt doesn't know whether to start laughing or crying when the patient in the next room smashes a vase, and _Kurt stays sleeping_.

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><p>You'd think the world would have picked itself up by now. There are very few people who try to make the world a better place to live in now. Burt Hummel may be torn and shattered and holding up only for his son and nothing else, but is fortunately one of those people.<p>

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><p>Kurt's eyelids flutter open for a second and he can see the faint outline of his dad in an unfamiliar setting. He can't really- is his dad crying? Or yelling? But he can't be yelling because there's no sound. And- and the doctor seems to be talking but the more he talks the more distressed his dad becomes.<p>

He wants to find out where he is, why everything is unnaturally quiet, why his dad is looking so upset; but before he knows it, Kurt's drifted off again.

_Dalton Academy. The name is familiar._

_Kurt is surrounded by boys in handsome navy blazers, all singing their hearts out with grins on their faces. Teenage Dream. Uptown Girl. Such fresh songs; energetic and friendly and amazing. They're welcoming him into the group because… they _like_ him. He has friends._

_Now he's on a dimly lit stage but he's not singing. He's watching the boy next to him, gorgeous and a little on the short side, take a deep breath. The boy opens his mouth, and this stunning voice makes Kurt's heart leap out of his chest._

"_All the games you played, the promises you made."_

_Hazel eyes staring right into his glasz ones. But_

"_Couldn't finish what you started."_

_when Kurt looks closer_

"_Only darkness still remains."_

_the boy's eyes seem_

"_Lost sight, couldn't see when it was you and me."_

_a little cloudy._

Kurt won't remember anything he dreamt. Why would he, when they're mostly nightmares anyway? Some things, he's learnt, are better when they are not exposed to the world but rather, shut away. In a locked box at the back of his mind perhaps. Or a closet. That works too.

The next time he wakes, he's a little groggy from the medication and excessive sleeping and his eyes can barely open. As his eyes adjust he finds his father slumped uncomfortably against the side of the bed – his much loved grey cap lying on the covers, flannel shirt noticeably picked at near the sleeves, and a warm hand resting gently on top of his. The only person who he loves; though if he's being brutally honest, he's quite wary with the whole concept of trust. It's like a foreign word to him now. Trust? What's that? He's forever guarded and insecure because the person he loved – sorry, loves – so very deeply destroyed him beyond repair.

Kurt gazes fondly at his dad, taking in with a frown the dark shadows under his eyes and wrinkled shirt that suggests he hasn't changed for some time. He's tempted to wake his dad and ask all the questions that are bothering him but he can't bring himself to rouse a man who has obviously been restless for days. So he closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep, thinking that if he can grow up to be half the man his dad is then he'd be happy.

At the door, the doctor drops his clipboard.

Burt wakes with a start. Kurt opens his eyes a little because he felt the bed shift and Burt's hand leave his own.

'I'm sorry,' Doctor David apologises.

Burt nods. 'Are you- Is Kurt okay?'

'There hasn't been any change to his current state but the anesthetics should begin to wear off now. He'll be awake soon-'

'Dad?'

Burt whips around, heart pounding. His voice. Kurt's voice. It's not the same. It's a little too frantic, a little too off-key.

'Dad? I- I- I can't talk. I can't hear anything. What – what happened? What's wrong? Why can't I hear?' he rants, almost hysterical and Burt just wants to shut his eyes and because he can't bear looking at him like that. Frenzied with panic, like a rabbit chased by barking dogs. He's too fragile. He's been through too much.

But Burt swallows hard and doesn't break down because he knows his son needs him. Soon enough he has his arms around Kurt who has streams of tears running down his face and is gabbling desperately, unsure of what he's even talking about; but the questions turn into shrieks and the doctor has to close to the door and Burt just hugs Kurt through it all, because that's all he can do.

Kurt ends up hiding himself under the covers, sobbing and coughing and screaming and kicking the men away. Because he doesn't want to accept the truth. Because it's not fair that _every fucking thing_ happens to him.

Later that night Kurt will cry himself to sleep in the unfamiliar hospital bed, tucking into a helpless, fetal position under the pristine white covers.

He'll wake up confused, eyes horribly swollen and red, on a tear-stained pillow and stand up to ease the ache in his bones from sleeping in an uncomfortable position the whole night. He'll open his mouth to sing the introduction of a song that's in his head (Candles, he thinks it's called). But the melody will die on his lips, when reality comes crashing down on him like an avalanche. Pressing on him, weighing him down. And he'll be crying again. He doesn't know it yet and he'd deny it if you asked but in the very core of his pulsing heart, he's waiting for someone to bring him back to the surface. Someone who won't hurt him and leave him the second they find out he's gay. Just someone who truly loves him back. That's not too much to ask for, is it?

You know, Kurt trusted once.

Not long ago, he had people and close friends who he confided in; he loved the New Directions and thought them as part of his family. Then one afternoon he'd grasped every ounce of courage he had and told them he liked boys – Kurt had one foot out of the closet and he had let himself hope, that his friends, of all people, would accept him. But they didn't and simply walked out of his life, so he drove home with eyes that were obscured with tears and had to pull up halfway at the side of a road because he was sobbing too hard to see.

No friends and no Glee Club. But that was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to-

It hurt to even think about. The memory tugged at a gaping hole in his heart every time it flashed across his mind.

His own mum had left him. Just like Rachel and Mercedes and Artie and everyone else. No last words, not even a single backward glance – leaving him alone with a heartbroken father and a shattered home.

They'd all just fucking _left_ him.

Kurt trusted once. Really.

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><p>Kurt Hummel is the boy who wears sport jerseys of teams he doesn't care for, caps with graffiti he finds unattractive and sneakers he longs to throw away. He's the boy who messes his hair before he arrives at school and forces himself to disguise his voice so that it's deeper.<p>

Kurt's not straight and he's not happy.

But he is the boy who always pretends to be someone he's not.


	2. Chapter 2: Blaine Anderson

**Author's Note: I really don't know what this is. It's very short because you're going to learn more about Blaine as the story goes on. Hope you like this!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Blaine Anderson<strong>

'No- no, don't get too close. That's the weird boy_._'

When people find something they don't understand, they turn against it. No one really seems to find anything wrong with this way of living.

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><p>'Stupid blind kid,' they mumble quietly as they pass him.<p>

But he's intelligent and a quick learner – aced his braille exams before any other student, won a scholarship to Dalton's support class. Dalton with its no bullying policy. The guys there didn't push him around or stick their foot out to trip him, but they didn't go out of their way to make friends with him either. If he said 'hi', he'd get a 'hello' in return but no 'how are you?' or 'want to hang out?' If he needed help walking down the staircase he'd get help; nothing more, nothing less.

Then people found out that he was an amazing singer and much to his delight, they invited him to join the Warblers. For a while it didn't matter that he was blind because he could _sing, _and that meant that they actually had a decent shot at winning Nationals this year. He has to admit that the time spent with the Warblers were the happiest months of his life. They pushed his disability aside during rehearsals and he felt _normal_; just another average guy hanging out with his friends. No judgement. They taught him the lyrics, changed the choreography so it was easier for him and realised that hey, he's actually a great guy to be around. Why hadn't they noticed that before?

Regionals came and their performance couldn't have gone more perfectly. Confidence was high, Wes ran around hugging everybody, and he'd had allowed himself to hope that this could be a turning point– if they passed Regionals and went on to Nationals, maybe- maybe he could have _friends_.

Of course, they didn't win. The judges knew the Warblers were amazing – better than the other schools; but they also knew their lead singer was blind. And they couldn't possibly have a blind boy winning Regionals could they?

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><p>There's a grand park outside the Anderson household, where the trees turn a brilliant fiery red, auburn, orange in autumn and a lush green in spring, where the paths are clean and the grass is soft. Wooden benches litter the entire area although people in the district rarely use them at all. They all have a place to be, always in a hurry, walking too fast to appreciate things they never notice. Like how the leaves shimmer with dew in the mornings, or how the vines tangle with tree trunks to weave an intricate web.<p>

But sometimes, on the particular bench right under that huge tree, you'd find a young, dark haired boy sitting there. Blaine Anderson. He'd be clutching his white cane even though he's sitting down, because as familiar as he is in the neighbourhood, he can't let it go. The first and only time he'd rested it against the seat was the time his cane got stolen, and he had even dropped desperately on all fours to search for it but of course, it wasn't there. He was forced to ask for assistance, pleading when they ignored him and finally, had to slowly shuffle and stumble his way home by himself.

Blaine would run his fingers gently along the bench, feeling the cracked wood under his fingers. He's a mysterious boy. There's so much that people don't know about him. Not because he's an introvert – it's just that no one bothers asking him.

He'd grin and say a cheery 'Good afternoon' whenever he heard a set a footsteps pass by. After a while he grew accustomed to not hearing a reply – because that's _Blaine Anderson_ there; the strange boy who is blind and smiles too much and God, look at him, he's _blind_, that's so fucking odd, walk faster.

If you walked up to Blaine and asked him what one disadvantage about being blind is, he'd be a little shocked and confused at first because no one really talks to him. But then he'd beam at you and shake his head. He'd say there isn't one. 'There's a reason for everything,' he'd say. 'I've heard stories, horrible ones about racists and bullies who take people down because of what they look like. Maybe I can't see because then I can't judge someone based on appearance. I don't know, but I think there's a reason I'm blind. And it's not like I know what I'm missing out on.'

But if you were to give him a minute to ponder about it, the part of his face that isn't covered by sunglasses would light up with an answer and he would tell you, 'Maybe- if I _really_ had to choose one … I'd say it would be the fact that I can't see anyone smile.'

Perhaps you'd walk away then because talking to someone like him is just too bizarre and oh dear, is that your neighbour about to walk past, _bye Blaine I have to go because being seen around you is too detrimental to my reputation._

Or perhaps you'd think this boy hasn't been through much. But he has, he's gone through much more than you can possible imagine. You see, one of Blaine's weaknesses is that he stores everything inside him; every emotion and bad feeling and sad memory. He's tried pouring it all out someone but they didn't listen and who was he to force his burden on their shoulders?

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><p>Blaine Anderson is the boy who was almost abandoned by his parents because they couldn't take the shame of having a disabled son. He is the boy who forgets where his socks are stored but doesn't want to bother his parents by asking, so he goes without them. Blaine is the boy who chooses to smile because he simply has too many reasons to cry.<p> 


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